


Sweet Dreams, Peril

by fineandwittie



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Sleep talking, napoleon in boxers and an apron, stupid plot bunny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-29
Updated: 2015-09-29
Packaged: 2018-04-23 22:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4895005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fineandwittie/pseuds/fineandwittie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya talks in his sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Dreams, Peril

The idea was laughable. Utterly and completely ridiculous.

And yet…when Napoleon thought about it? He’d never actually seen Illya sleep. Ever. 

They’d been partners now for well over six months, Gaby flittering around in the background acting as handler. In all that time, Napoleon could not remember a single instance when Illya fell asleep before him or slept while he was awake.

It was, actually, sheer dumb luck on his part that he’d woken up in the middle of the night. He’d come awake abruptly and for no reason that he could see. Illya was sleeping sounding in the next bed, making little shuffling sounds every two or three breaths. Napoleon lay, quietly, thinking about letting himself drift back to sleep, when Illya spoke. There was no change in his breathing, no indication that he was awake. 

“I do not like bananas, Mother. They are mushy.”

Illya Kuryakin talked in his sleep.

Napoleon had to bite his lip to prevent himself from laughing. Illya’s voice was a low mumble and the words are in Russian, but unmistakable all the same.

Napoleon waited, praying that Illya continued speaking. He waited for ten minutes and had just resigned himself to going back to sleep, when Illya spoke again. Napoleon wasn’t disappointed that he’d stayed awake.

“Gaby is a lovely girl. Good Handler, bad agent. Why do you ask me?”

Napoleon frowned, wondering at that. That did not sound like the endorsement of a man in love.

“No, Cowboy, there is nothing between us. What made you think so? Why do you care?”

Napoleon tensed. Illya was dreaming about him? Illya was dreaming about discussing Gaby with him? That’s…disconcerting.

“Oh.” It was more of a soft noise than a real word. Illya sounded surprised and possibly pleased. “No, I didn’t…” He trailed off into incoherent mumbles and shifted on his bed. 

Napoleon laid awake, tying to parse out what could have prompted such a noise. Was it something dream-him had done?

Eventually his mind quieted enough that he fell back to sleep. When he got up the next morning, Illya was already awake. The giant Russian was squeezed into the kitchenette, attempting to make breakfast. He appeared to be burning the eggs. Napoleon laughed at him, snagged an apron off its hook, and took over the food preparation. He hadn’t bothered to put clothes on before he’d stumbled into the kitchen in only his boxers. Gaby wasn’t meant to be arriving until late that afternoon, so it shouldn’t matter. 

Illya makes a choked sort of noise and slumps into a chair at the table. Napoleon glanced at him over his shoulder. Illya’s face is a little flushed, possibly from the embarrassment of burning eggs. 

“You talk in your sleep, did you know?” Napoleon commented casually, sneaking a peek at Illya as he did. 

The Russian flushed a dull red, deeper than before, and went rigid. “Da.”

“Well, I promise I’ll never try to make you eat bananas, now that I know you think they’re mushy.”

Illya blinked rapidly for a moment. He swallowed, relief making his shoulders sag. “I said something about bananas?”

Napoleon laughed. “You told your mother that they are mushy and you don’t like them.”

Illya snorted. “They are. And I do not. Was that all I said?” He sounded wary, like he didn’t really want to know.

Napoleon shook his head. “You told me that Gaby is a lovely girl and that there’s nothing between you two. Why did I want to know that, Peril?”

Illya inhaled sharply. Napoleon pulled the finished breakfast from the burner and turned to him. He looked edgy, tense. “Illya?”

“What, Cowboy?” His voice was hostile.

Napoleon frowned. He turned away to plate the food and said nothing. When he puts one of the plates down in front of Illya a moment later, he said nothing.

Illya huffs out a breath through his nose and grits his teeth. “You will press on this until you get answer.”

The words felt like knife in his belly, sharp and jagged and bleeding him. He thought Illya knew him better than that. He could feel his face go blank and he looked up to meet Illya’s gaze. “Is it immediately relevant to the mission?”

Illya scowled. “Nyet.”

Napoleon turned back to his food, nursing his pain and wondering what exactly had been in that dream that had Illya snarling so fiercely. “Then, no. I won’t ever ask you again. It was just a friendly question, Peril.”

They sat in silence for several very long moments, Napoleon eating and Illya staring at him. 

Finally Illya twitched, a tiny full body motion that caught Napoleon’s attention. He looked up to find Illya’s eyes had dropped to the surface of the table. “You did ask me about Gaby, in my dream. You thought we were couple. We are not. When I told you this, you kissed me.” Napoleon’s eyes widened and his lips parted on a gasp. Illya’s face turned bright red and he turned his head away, as though ashamed. “I am sorry that I dream such…twisted things about you, Cowboy. I cannot get them to stop.”

“You’ve—“ Napoleon’s voice came out a hoarse croak. He takes a quick sip of the juice that’s sitting on the table, not caring who it is meant for. “You’ve dreamt about me…like that…before? You’ve dreamt of kissing me before?”

He sounded tentative, skittish, even to his own ears. Illya swallowed. “Da. More than kissing. I am sorry.”

Napoleon laughed, short and abrupt. The sound caused Illya to swing back around and focus a wounded gaze on him. “God. Don’t be sorry. I dream about you all the time. Thinking that you were with Gaby has been killing me these passed few months. You’ve been so close and so entirely out of reach at the same time.”

Illya’s eye grew wide as he spoke, shock painting itself across his face. “You? Honestly? Is not joke?”

Napoleon stood and took a step toward Illya, who looked up at him with hope in his eyes. “I never joke about love, Illya. You should know that by now.” He murmured and dropped a kiss onto Illya’s upturned mouth.


End file.
